Coming In From The Cold
1
"New voice message from telephone number withheld; received on Sunday, December 16th, at 8:13 am."
"Hey Jules. It's Domenique. I'm sorry it's been a while, but I just wanted to tell you that we miss you and that I'd like to invite you to another get together. The thing is that it's on Christmas Eve. I know that's tough, but if you could see your way to joining us for a few of the evening hours, the late evening hours, hmm, it would be really awesome. There's someone I really want you to meet. She's very healthy and limber, and I think you'll enjoy each other very much. So; call me back. Peace."
Jules played the message on speaker so that Tina could hear. It was approaching mid day and the ladies had assumed a new position on Jules's freshly made bed.
"I don't get it," said Jules, tossing the phone aside as she lay on her back, her legs wrapped around Tina, who was seated at her sex, "Why just force Gwen out like that?"
Tina shrugged, her fingers busy caressing Jules's breasts and tugging her nipples.
"I don't know." She said, "Gwen thought Domenique told her everything there was to know, but apparently this Letreese chick was a secret."
"But why;" asked Jules, "Because she's black?"
Tina's eyes shifted from Jules's face to the trail her own fingers were leading, and then off to the bright white winter day beyond the apartment's window. She stared into the clouding sky for a time as her long fingers drew ever closer to Jules's red haired pubis. Tina's thoughts settled on something Gwen had said, something about a Puerto Rican girl, but the memory wasn't substantial enough to challenge the memory she had of seeing Domenique and the stripper, likening Love as the music that soothed the savage beast. Then, still looking away as her fingers gently parted the soft clef of Jules's mound, Tina said:
"No; it's not that. Still, Domenique has some serious issues about something, and Gwen is probably quite turned off by that, and probably by the rest of us too."
Jules was reminded of the tale Tina had told earlier that day, particularly the details of her special interlude with Gwen. She fluffed her pillow more comfortably beneath her head, and then folded her arms behind it. Tina gave her business fingers a good lick, and then returned her full attention to the beauty before her. Clearing her mind, Jules closed her eyes, and relaxed as Tina worked the honey from her glorious red hive. Tina watched her own fingers and palm smoothly turn until her index and middle beckoned Jules's G spot and her thumb work her clit to a reddening shade of hard.
"Would you have sex with Love; or Letreese," said Jules, her eyes suddenly open, "I mean, if you knew she wasn't a STD risk?"
Tina glanced sidelong as she absently coaxed the honey from Jules's sex.
"I guess." Tina shrugged, meeting Jules's gaze, "She's pretty. I wouldn't mind trying a little taste I guess, and I suppose I could watch you fuck her."
Jules smiled. Tina smiled back, eased her fingers from Jules's pussy, sat back, pulled the red head's legs down, and then climbed on for a grind.
"But how can we be sure that she's clean?" asked Tina as she gently crushed her body against Jules's, lowering her hips so that the red head could get a good rub off of Tina's pubic bone.
"I'll just demand that this Letreese chick leave samples during one of my shifts." Said Jules as she leaned on her elbows to get a few good mouthfuls of Tina's big creamy breasts, "And if Domenique doesn't think that needs to happen, then we don't need Domenique. Does that work for you?"
"Totally." Agreed Tina.
She felt Jules work her way into a rhythm of grinding, swiveling, and rubbing her clit against her cleanly shaven pubis. Tina thought she might have some serious rug burn later. But, for now, Jules got them too slick for her to feel anything even remotely like pain. Eventually, Jules grabbed Tina's ass cheeks and pulled her closer for the sake of increasing the friction. Then, as their kissing got wetter and deeper, their talk got dirtier and Jules's sheets got sex soppy all over again; until they came together, heaving great rapturous breaths into each other's open, panting, mouths.
2
Hovering her pussy over the dildo secured to the centermost spot on the surface of her personal balance beam, Letreese admired how beautiful Dom's face looked against the flickering lights of her Christmas tree. Domenique stared back, heat in her eyes, remembering how hot Letreese used to get when she watched her practicing her act.
Dom knew Letreese's attraction had to be inspired by something more than her less than usual stripper body or typical style of dance. It was Letreese that was the superior entertainer, the practiced dancer, the hottest little body at the club, the extraordinarily nimble contortionist. There she was, in Letreese's new apartment, high vaulted ceilings, yards of smooth hard wood floor, expensive furnishings, a big kitchen and a Jacuzzi in the bath, the spoils of a beautiful, intelligent and ambitious woman.
Domenique set her mug of coco, brandy free, on the little table Letreese jokingly described as where she'd put Santa's milk and cookies, and got to her feet. She knew what was expected. The song playing through Letreese's surround sound, Dangerously In Love by Destiny's Child, was her cue. The two women studied each other as Domenique began her dance. As Domenique slipped out of her top, Letreese lowered her slowly blossoming pussy closer to the mounted dildo. She held her legs in a forward split, and braced herself with sinuous arms. You are the drops of rain and I am the sea, sang Destiny's Child while Domenique took her time about unsnapping her way down her button fly.
Letreese's philosophy was that life was nothing if it was not a perpetual pursuit of one climax or another, an all too finite system of juicy sweet and savory hot sensory exchange, whether under the passive observer's gaze or physically induced by direct, consensual, touch. It was also her conviction that she'd surely die with the death of her sensuality. Love, A K A Letreese Coble, had grown up in a Baptist family that pulled its roots in Alabama, moved up to Illinois, and then finally settled again in Connecticut. In Letreese's case, the fruit had in deed fallen far from the tree, rolled out of Eden and was consumed by the allure of the seamier, steamier, side of life.
She believed there would be plenty of time for God; after she died. So Letreese lived, enjoying and learning from the work of southern black and white male and female authors, and business women in front of and behind the camera in the porn industry. One day at a time, Letreese secured her freedom, her comfort in an ever changing world until she realized her body, in all its glorious nakedness, was one with the natural world, like a bell jar held against the wilderness. As for her skin, the deep rich brown of it, for herself, her fans and her lovers, it was a smooth and supple suit of armor. Beyond that, there were the black girls who didn't think she was black enough, shooting contemptuous leers at her on the days she'd relaxed her hair, the white girls who assumed her speech and intelligence was her way of disarming or whiting herself, or the older white lady cashiers in the stores who had that look that said there was no way this black woman was going to have the money to pay for these clothes.
Inside her black woman's skin, through her black woman's better sense, her sexuality and intelligence forging the fire of her confidence and self respect, Love crossed all sorts of lines all the time, and that made the stupid people's stupidity drown in the wake of her substance. In Love, for Love and wrapped around Love, black was in deed beautiful and everyone that truly mattered knew it. Domenique knew it, and she had truly mattered. Domenique still mattered, even after she'd inflicted her violence and left.
Like a plump drop of fresh spring rain pooling at the tip of a leaf, a glowing bauble of Letreese's pussy juice clung precariously from her slightly open lips. Domenique, just a thong's snap away from naked, watched as the bead dropped onto the tip of the black dildo below, and then made a slow, diminishing trail of itself along the head and down the shaft. It hit her then, an ugly memory she would have been astonished to know Letreese had written extensively about.
It was shortly after she'd attacked Letreese; the night the one black customer she'd ever had-handsome, well dressed and accompanied by a small entourage - strode up to the stage, sent a hundred dollar bill sailing to her feet, and then asked her to come and have a seat on the throne of his lap. A hundred dollars was still a hundred dollars, so Letreese lapped the man. Not wanting to upset Domenique, Letreese restricted her conduct and movements to what she'd do for a regular thirty dollar dance. So she danced a hundred dollars' worth, and because it was bad business to be rude, Letreese remained polite, laughed at the right times, gave a minimum of personal information and gently reminded him to keep his hands at his sides for the duration of the dance.
Now fully naked, trying to cut off memories of bruised brown skin and bloodied lips, Domenique noticed Letreese's eyes narrow. She thought she saw the veiled look of disdain Love reserved for her hecklers. Then, Domenique looked down at the artfully shaved out eyes of Letreese's pubic face rise and fall, and then studied its pussy mouth take in the dildo, the beads of its sweat dripping trails to the bottom edge of the beam, an occasional drop making it to the floor below. Soon, she would bring her mouth and tongue to that face, giving Letreese the next thing she wanted. It was Letreese's favorite; Dom working her practiced cunnilingus as her G spot was massaged with something very big and smooth, while she confidently teetered, legs spread, on her balance beam.
What is the value of having the upper hand, DOMENIQUE asked herself as she brought her mouth to Letreese's pussy. Do I really enjoy getting off that much on the come hell or high water? Was it really the safest place in a relationship? Maybe that's it; it hurts too much to be on top. Domenique's smile widened as she planted her first kiss of the night on Letreese's tiny dick of a clit. Yeah right; you love it, bitch.
Domenique didn't have to follow Love up the stage steps that night. But, retreat was no longer an option. Letreese, after all, had taught her that she could be loved, that she deserved it, though her warped sense of self took deserve to mean steal. After her emancipation from foster care, Domenique had promised her Aunt Heather that she wouldn't go into stripping. And she hadn't, not for a couple of months anyway. But the pay beat anything she could collect doing any other, conventional, menial labor at the time. So she found a decent place, worked on her stage persona and eventually met Letreese.
The relationship worked because Letreese recognized Domenique for what she was: a narcissistic viper; a uniquely lovely, broken hearted hammer fist of a woman. She was the top to Letreeses top. Dom knew that Letreese understood that she hadn't run away, but that she took off to give her a break. They were both very intense women; two tops that spent more time getting off as two wrongs trying to make it right.
As for Gwen and the girls, Domenique's last tryst with them was some of the best sex she'd ever had. So, she couldn't just tell Gwen that the plan all along was to create a system of physical intimacy, a scrumptious buffet of juicy pussy, that would make even Letreese jealous. Sure, Letreese had her adoring fans, but she never slept with them, nor had she met a dancer back stage that revved her erotic hunger like Dom had. Now, the break was over, and like her stage performances, Letreese's timing was just right.
Domenique saw the shift was coming. It was in the dynamic between Gwen and TINA in how they talked, how they played with each other during their group intimacy. Why else remain behind that night, fain sleeping, and then follow them later. If Domenique hadn't seen the three white roses emblazoned on their billboard, she would have surely beaten the hell out of both of them. So she followed, stopped at the liquor store, staked out, and then followed again until they arrived at the club and Domenique understood everything. In that moment, Domenique realized that Letreese was her way of transitioning back to settling into a new equilibrium of sobriety. Letreese would help her stop drinking again, and when the two wrongs not making a right nature of their top to top love affair drove her to drink again, Domenique would leave and Letreese would move on. It was fucked, Dom knew; but it was also the only way she knew how to survive.
